


Somewhere in Brooklyn

by ShowMeAHero



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Basically, Brooklyn, But that's background, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 23:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3997549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky and Steve met by chance at the Coney Island subway station, and they spend two weeks trying to find each other again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere in Brooklyn

**Author's Note:**

> This entire thing is based on the song ["Somewhere in Brooklyn" by Bruno Mars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XsN3GlPK6tM), since I couldn't stop picturing Bucky and Steve whenever I heard the song, but it very quickly became much more than that.

Bucky tugged his shirt over his head with one hand as quickly as he could, his Reduced-Fare MetroCard between his teeth as he made his way down to the trains. He stuffed his work shirt in his backpack and started digging through it for his second work shirt. He took a seat on a bench between the tracks, pushing everything in his bag aside, searching for his second work shirt. He groaned when he did not see it, and dropped his MetroCard. Before he could pick it up from the ground, the little blonde guy he was sitting next to on the bench grabbed it and held it out to him.

“Thanks,” Bucky said to him, taking it from his paint-stained hands before he even looked up. When he did look up, though, his breath caught in his throat. The guy smiled at him, seemingly unaware that he had just made Bucky’s whole world stop. Bucky took a second to look him over, from his beat-up red Nike high-tops to his tight jeans, to his tank top and his small leather jacket; a thin gold chain glistened around his neck. He had huge headphones on, but he moved them to wrap around his neck while Bucky looked at him.

“No problem,” the guy answered. “You might not want to put it back in your mouth, though.”

Bucky laughed thickly. “Yeah. Right, yeah, you’re right.” He stuffed the MetroCard in one of the side pockets of his backpack before digging through the contents of the bag again, finally resurfacing with his other work shirt. He tugged the blue long-sleeved undershirt over his head and his wifebeater before slipping one of his arms through the short sleeves of his work shirt.

“Where are you headed?” the guy asked, politely ignoring Bucky’s prosthetic arm. Bucky started cramming the prosthetic through the other sleeve before answering.

“The happiest place on Earth,” Bucky replied, starting to button up the bright red polo one-handed. He stopped to tap the name tag that declared him to be James from Brooklyn, New York. “I work at the Disney Store in Times Square.”

The guy whistled. “And you live in Brooklyn?”

“Live and work in Brooklyn,” Bucky told him, and the guy raised an eyebrow. “I work as a janitor. And I’m a dockworker, but that’s kinda off-the-books.”

“That’s a lot of jobs,” the guy pointed out, switching off his music. Bucky could no longer hear hip-hop music streaming out of his headphones.

Bucky shrugged. “I take care of my mom and my sister.”

The guy nodded. “Yeah, I understand that. My mom was sick for a while before I lost her, I took care of her.” He motioned to himself. “Now, it’s just me.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Bucky told him sincerely. The guy shrugged it off.

“It’s better now,” he said simply, his tone definitely ending that thread, and he motioned towards Bucky. “How’s your day been, James?”

Bucky smiled. “My day just got a lot better.”

The guy tried not to smile back, the tips of his ears going a little red. He readjusted his worn Brooklyn Cyclones cap over his dirty blonde hair, turning his head a little. Bucky caught sight of a hearing aid in his ear. His smile turned into a grin.

 _“How was your day, then?”_ Bucky signed at him with one hand when the guy looked back at him. The guy looked surprised for a second.

 _“It was good,”_ the guy signed back, beaming. _“I live in Brooklyn, but a little too far away to walk with asthma. I just went to a street art show at Coney Island, that was why I was here. Today is my day off.”_

“Are you an artist?” Bucky asked out loud, and the guy shrugged.

“I guess, a little bit.” He held up his hands, his fingers and palms smudged with charcoal and splattered with paint. “I like to do it. I don’t know if I could do anything with it.”

“I bet you could,” Bucky told him. The guy’s entire ears turned red this time.

“Why do you know sign language?” the guy asked, and Bucky lifted one shoulder, playing with the sleeve of his long-sleeved undershirt.

“My sister,” Bucky offered, and the guy held up a hand that said Bucky didn’t have to say anymore. Just then, a train started blowing past, screeching along the track before coming to a stop. The guy stood up, adjusting his frayed messenger bag strap.

“I guess I’ll see you around, then, James,” the guy said, offering a half-salute.

“You can call me Bucky,” Bucky told him. The guy grinned back at him before stepping onto the F train.

“Bye, then, Bucky,” the guy amended. Bucky stood up abruptly, throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

“Wait, no, I didn’t get your name!” Bucky shouted, and the guy, already on the train, tapped his hearing aid and shrugged, signing back, _“I can’t hear you,”_ and the doors slid shut between them. Bucky banged on the subway car door with his fist as the train started to pull away. Bucky watched the guy’s bright blue eyes vanish behind a large man before the guy and the train disappeared completely.

“Shit,” Bucky hissed, running to catch the Q train to the Times Square - 42nd Street station so he wouldn’t be late for work.

* * *

“What the hell happened to you?” Sam asked the second Steve opened the door of their shared apartment. Steve sighed and shut the door. “Nah, for real. You look like hell.”

“I met a really great guy,” Steve told him, dropping his messenger bag on the floor and collapsing on the sofa next to Sam. Sam waited for him to speak, but Steve seemed done, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“You’re right, that’s a totally valid reason to look that devastated,” Sam commented dryly. Steve flicked him in the ear. “Ow, dude, the _ear-”_

“He was a really great guy and he knew _sign language_ and he takes care of his _mom_ and his _sister_ and he doesn’t know my name and all I got was that his name is James but he goes by Bucky!” Steve exclaimed all at once, gasping for air by the end. He dropped his palm flat against his chest and leaned back against the sofa. “Shit. He was _so_ handsome, Sam.”

“Alright, well, where’d you meet him?” Sam asked. Natasha came in from the kitchen, passing Steve and Sam a can of soda each before falling into the armchair. “Nat, what the _hell_ is in this?”

“She spiked 'em all with Smirnoff,” Clint informed them, sitting half-on Natasha’s lap, half-on the chair of Natasha’s armchair. Steve took a sniff of his before taking a long pull from it. Clint whistled. “Long day?”

“The Coney Island station on Surf Avenue,” Steve answered. He took another drink from his vodka and Coke. “And he doesn’t know anything about me. I know his name, kind of, and that he lives in Brooklyn. I know he’s… Shit, what did he say? Janitor, dockworker, and some sort of store with those pins with the name and location?” Steve thumped his can against his forehead in frustration.

“Well, if he’s a janitor and a dockworker, and he was leaving Coney Island, I’m going with the janitor job is at the New York Aquarium,” Clint offered. Steve looked excited for a second before he deflated again.

“I can’t just show up at his work, that’s too creepy,” Steve countered. He thought for a second, then chugged the last of his drink. He coughed for two minutes after before passing his can off to Sam, who frowned at it.

“What’s with the sudden righteousness, tiger?” Natasha asked, smiling at him. Steve went into his bedroom off the living room, collecting his change.

“I’m gonna find him,” Steve called back. “He lives in Brooklyn. Brooklyn’s not that big. He’s somewhere out there, and I am gonna find him.” He reappeared in his doorway, shoving the change into the pockets of his jeans. “Okay. He’s about this tall,” Steve informed them, holding his hand about eight inches above his head, “and he has really blue eyes, and he’s got a prosthetic arm-”

“Which arm?” Sam asked. Steve paused for a second.

“Left arm,” Steve told them. “Yeah, the left arm is a prosthetic. And his hair probably goes to about here,” Steve motioned around his shoulders, “but he had it up in a bun. About our age. Really handsome. James or Bucky.” Steve grabbed his messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder. “My phone is on. Let me know.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sam announced, shoving his feet into his sneakers and swallowing the last of his drink. He left his and Steve’s cans with Clint and followed Steve out the door. Clint took the last sip of his own drink and started juggling the three empty cans. Natasha pushed him off the arm of the chair onto the floor.

* * *

Bucky only had forty-five minutes between work at the Disney store and work at the docks three days after he met the guy at the station, and he was spending it searching through DUMBO for any sign of the guy from the station. He had written down his defining features on the palm of his hand in Sharpie, and he was reading them over quietly to himself as he got off the train and made his way to the street.

There were a bunch of teenagers playing basketball in the road, and he made his way over, asking them if they had seen a little blonde guy with hearing aids, and they all told him that, no, they hadn’t, and Bucky left them alone. The same thing happened with the old ladies sitting on their porch, and the small children drawing with chalk, and the yuppies jogging together. He checked his worn watch and sighed.

Bucky started circling the block, feeling _right_ about DUMBO, like this was the place the guy _had_ to live. It had nothing to do with the fact that Bucky lived there, too. At all. The guy definitely just had the feel of the place, just like Bucky did. He felt like he had passed the same stone on the sidewalk at least eight times, and he started kicking it around, keeping an eye out for any blonde people who might happen to walk by. He tapped a couple people on the shoulders, listing off the guy’s characteristics and still coming up with blanks. He checked his watch again and saw that he was almost out of time. He dug his MetroCard out of his pocket.

Bucky passed by a dark-haired guy talking into his phone on his way to the station. It looked like the guy waved to him, but Bucky did not feel like he knew him; maybe he recognized him from the VA group sessions he used to go to, but it had been a couple of years since those.. He snapped off a half-hearted salute to him, just in case, before going back into the station to, hopefully, catch the train down to Coney Island. The man continued talking quickly into his phone.

Bucky had to stay standing on the train, giving up the last seat to a little boy with a missing front tooth. He had blonde hair and little red sneakers, and Bucky could not help but smile back at him as the train hurtled towards Coney Island.

* * *

“Are you sure it was him?” Steve asked, breaking into a sprint. He almost knocked over a stand full of bananas, avocados, and watermelons, and he apologized, tossing the loose bananas back into place before stumbling back into his run.

“I am fairly certain it was him, there can only be so many long-haired brunettes with prosthetic left arms in Brooklyn,” Sam answered. “I think he was in one of my VA groups a couple years back, actually. Lost his arm in Afghanistan, if I recall correctly. Wait, where are you?”

Steve looked at a street sign before slowing to a halt. “West 9th Street.”

“You’re not gonna make it, Steve, he’s getting on the train, don’t kill yourself,” Sam told him, his voice tinny over the phone. Steve leaned against the graffiti-covered brick wall, catching his breath. He kicked at the wall.

“Shit,” Steve mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. A guy was eyeing a girl across the street. “Alright, Sam. West 9th Street. Probably about to have a problem, come get me.” The guy was getting closer to the girl, and Steve shoved up the sleeves of his leather jacket. Sam sighed on the other end of the line.

“Try not to take too many in the chest or the face,” Sam reminded him.

“Sure thing,” Steve replied, tucking his phone into his messenger bag and swinging it behind him just as the guy finally got to the girl. He grabbed her arm, and Steve sprinted across the street, shoving at him. The guy pulled back from the girl only to stare down at Steve. The girl took off. Steve cracked his neck.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the guy spat at Steve, and Steve’s hands tightened into clenched fists.

“The right thing,” Steve mockingly half-snarled back. He popped out his hearing aids and crammed them into his messenger bag, cutting off whatever the guy was saying to him. He couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he could read lips just fine, and he threw the first punch. Sam got there in a solid twenty minutes. Steve _definitely_ had the guy on the ropes, though.

* * *

“Where have you been spending all your time, James?” Bucky’s mother, Winifred, asked him over dinner a week after Bucky met the guy at the station. Bucky looked up at her, a forkful of instant mashed potatoes halfway to his mouth. He put his fork down.

“I… met someone,” Bucky told her, mostly truthfully. Rebecca grinned toothily at him.

“Is it a girl?” she asked, voice pitched high and teasing. Bucky knocked her lightly in the shoulder and ruffled her hair. She batted his hands away.

“It’s not a girl,” he answered, and Winifred smiled a little at him.

“I hope he’s a nice man, then,” Winifred told him. “Do you like him?”

“I like him very much, Ma,” Bucky replied, picking up his fork again and shoving the potatoes into his mouth. Rebecca attempted to steal a bit of cut hot dog off his plate, and Bucky fought her off with his fork just as the front door slammed open. All three of them immediately turned towards the door.

“Rebecca, come with me,” Winifred ordered, and it was standard by now, for Winifred to hide Rebecca in the pantry in their tiny kitchen while Bucky and Winifred attempted to take care of his and Rebecca’s father, George. Bucky dropped his fork and gathered up the dishes.

“Welcome home, Dad,” Bucky called over his shoulder. He heard the front door bang shut, and he stuck the plates in the fridge before nudging the pantry door completely shut. “How was your day?”

“You know damn well how it was,” George answered. Winifred took the empty dishes from Bucky and started washing them in the sink. Bucky leaned his left side against the wall; his prosthetic was a reminder his father always hated, the armed forces being what had changed him so much, same as they did to his son; only one of them was able to handle it, though.

“I’m sorry your day didn’t go so well, Georgie,” Winifred commented as George fell into a kitchen chair. Bucky handed him a mug of bitter, black coffee, and George knocked it aside immediately. “James has been seeing a nice girl, George. Tell him about her, James.”

“She’s real pretty, Dad,” Bucky lied immediately, taking the seat across from George. “Blonde hair, tiny little thing. She likes to paint.”

“You’re a fucking liar,” George spat. Bucky sighed, and George half-heartedly reached across the table for Bucky. Bucky easily leaned back and stood up, grabbing George by the back of his shirt and dragging him out of the apartment.

“You can’t kick me out of my own house,” George snarled in his face, and Bucky tossed him away from him.

“I can, and I am. Go sleep it off somewhere,” Bucky ordered. He went back inside, slamming and locking the front door behind him. Rebecca came out of nowhere, colliding with Bucky’s legs, wrapping her arms around Bucky’s waist.

“Take her out,” Winifred murmured to him, and Bucky nodded. He pulled away a little, his hand on her shoulder.

“Get your hearing aids and your backpack, Becca, we’re going to go for a walk,” Bucky told her, and she jogged off to gather her belongings. Winifred hugged her son, and Bucky kissed her hair.

“Lock the door and don’t answer it,” Bucky reminded her. She nodded against his shoulder. “Go out the back if you have to, down the fire escape to Mrs. Alvarado’s place, she’ll take care of you.”

“Where are we going, Bucky?” Rebecca asked, pulling her arms through the straps of her backpack. Bucky took her hand in his.

“We’re going to look for my new guy,” Bucky told her, and led her down the fire escape at the back of the apartment until they were in the street. He told her the whole story about how he met this mysterious guy, how he was trying to find him, and Rebecca thoroughly engrossed herself in the search, sitting on Bucky’s shoulders and pointing out every blonde head she saw until the sun had long since set and George was nothing but a memory.

* * *

A week and a half after Steve met James, or Bucky, or whatever his name was, he found himself, one broken rib, a black eye, and all, back at Coney Island. He and Natasha and Clint (Sam was at the aquarium with Riley) were walking along the beach, Steve’s heart racing a bit every time he saw someone with dark hair, which was rather frequently.

“I don’t know if we’re going to find this guy, Steve,” Clint eventually commented, watching Lucky run into the water and bite at a wave. “It’s like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“Keep your hopes up, Clint,” Steve replied, watching as a brunette with shoulder-length hair raised both arms. He bit back a frustrated sigh. “He’s gotta be somewhere. Someone has to know him.”

Steve was starting to feel a little bit at a loss, wondering where Bucky was, knowing he was out there, somewhere. Maybe looking for Steve, maybe not. He knew less about Steve than Steve knew about him, it must be even more hopeless from his side. Maybe he should put up flyers. No, that’s not cool. Maybe he should just start hanging out in bars or clubs or something. Maybe Bucky is a club kind of guy.

Steve shook his head, running a hand through his hair. He fingered the cross hanging around his neck, one of his last physical memories of his mother, and watched Lucky bite at another wave. The dog jogged happily over to them and dropped a boot at their feet.

“Aww, dog,” Clint groaned. He tossed the boot back, and Lucky ran after it again. “Bring back James, while you’re out there!”

“Maybe he’s a mermaid,” Natasha pointed out. Steve abruptly dropped into the sand.

“So helpful, Natasha, thank you,” Steve muttered, staring up at the blue sky above them. “Then he can give up his voice, but it won’t matter since we both know sign language, and he’ll have his legs for keeps, and we can get married and live happily ever after.”

“You don’t know that won’t happen.” Clint sat down in the sand beside Steve, throwing the boot back into the water when Lucky trotted it over to him again. Lucky took off like a shot.

“We’ll find him, Steve,” Natasha assured him, sincerity genuinely lacing her voice. “We’ll find him.”

Steve glanced at her, then looked back up at the clouds. He pointed at one. “That one looks like Bucky.”

“I hate you,” Natasha commented lightly as Clint shoved a handful of sand into Steve’s face.

* * *

Bucky was starting to feel like he spent every second of his time that he didn’t spend working or with Rebecca and his mother on trying to find this guy. Whenever he shut his eyes, he saw charcoal-smudged hands and loose leather jackets and little hearing aids. Brooklyn Heights was a much nicer place than he could ever afford to live, but he had just dropped off dinner for Rebecca and his mother and decided to make another circuit around Brooklyn in his quest to find this guy.

It felt like he had traveled all the way from Greenpoint to Flatbush and back again every single day. He approached everyone who let him near enough, tapping them on the shoulder and asking them if they knew an artist, about so tall, with a hearing aid and dirty blonde hair. Apparently, that description fit a few people, but, without a name, Bucky found himself getting nowhere except back to the train station at Coney Island every day, hoping against hope that he would see the guy again.

He stopped in the Penny Bridge Store in Brooklyn Heights, intending to pick up a Coke bottle. A guy with strong arms and an arrow tattoo on his neck waved to him before continuing to mop the floor by the milk. Bucky offered him a little wave as he got to the fridge section with the Coke bottles. He slowed to a halt when he actually saw the Coke bottles; all of them were facing outward, and all of them said _James_. Frowning, he snagged one of the bottles and brought it up to the register, and the beautiful redhead in an apron on the other side smiled at him. Her name tag said _Natasha._

“Is your name actually James?” she asked him, a little bit of a Russian accent making her voice just a hint rougher. Bucky offered her the flirtiest smile he could.

“Yeah, my name’s James,” Bucky replied, and she rang the bottle up for him. “Why do you have thirty bottles that say James on them?”

She handed him the bottle, giving him a flirty smile back. She felt deadly. “I’ve been on the lookout for a guy named James. I’m hoping those might lure him in.”

“Well, good luck to you finding your James,” Bucky added. He set the bottle down on the counter and started digging in his pocket for his money. He handed over a couple of bills. “I’m not even really a James, to be honest. My friends call me Bucky, but I don’t think there is a Bucky bottle. Even if there was, you probably wouldn’t have it here, would you, since you took all the James bottles the company-”

“Your first name is James?” Natasha interrupted, her hands freezing over the two dollars Bucky was handing over to her for the Coke.

“Uhm, yeah,” Bucky confirmed. She took the two dollars, but didn’t move to do anything with them.

“But you go by Bucky?” she pressed. Bucky nodded, popping the top off the Coke bottle.

“Yeah, I do,” he answered. He took a sip of the Coke. “Why? Happen to know another one?”

“Steve’s been looking for you,” Natasha informed him, like he was supposed to know who Steve was. She was starting to genuinely smile a little bit, and Bucky’s brow furrowed. He pulled the bottle away from his mouth and set it on the counter again. Natasha handed him back two quarters, a dime, and a penny.

“Who’s Steve?” Bucky asked, pocketing the change and making a mental note to give all the coins he had collected so far that day to the homeless veteran across the street with the sign and the cup.

“He’s a friend of mine that I believe you know,” she informed him, pulling her phone out of the apron pocket and texting furiously. Her phone chimed a second later. “Did you meet a man at Coney Island about two weeks ago?”

Bucky’s heart stopped, then jumped up into his throat. “Yeah, I did. He’s an artist, he’s got dirty-blonde hair and a hearing aid-”

“That’s Steve,” Natasha interrupted, beginning to grin wildly. Bucky took another sip of his Coke just for something to do with his hands apart from throwing them up in the air and screaming. Natasha’s phone chimed again, and she quickly read the text. She grinned up at Bucky, cat-like and delighted. “Can you meet him at the Coney Island station again? He’ll be there waiting for you, he says.”

Bucky nodded. He put his Coke down and stuck his hand out to her, trying to ignore his own nervous trembling, and she shook it firmly, a tilt to her mouth. She squeezed his hand tightly, and he squeezed back before releasing her.

“Tell Steve to call me and let me know how it goes,” she told him, winking at him. Bucky raised an eyebrow, and she laughed, handing him his bottle. “Good luck, James.”

Bucky knew Brooklyn by heart if he knew anything, having lived in it and hauled ass all over it since birth, and he was able to make the walk to the Jay Street - MetroTech station before taking the F train to the West 8th Street - New York Aquarium station on Surf Avenue. He tried to fix his hair as he made his way to the now-familiar Coney Island - Stillwell Avenue station further down Surf Avenue. His hair had just crossed the wrong side of too long, so he tied it up in a bun at the back of his head, cursing the prosthetic and wishing he had two hands to use for this.

He got to the station where he met the guy - whose name was apparently _Steve_ , and Bucky couldn’t think of a better name than that, didn’t think he had ever heard a better name in his life - around nine o’clock, the sun already set in the sky. He adjusted his wifebeater, wishing he had a jacket to cover his arm as he made his way back to the same bench.

Every day, he came back to this very spot, wishing to see what he saw this time. It was well worth the wait, though, to get down the steps and see Steve, the same as he was two weeks ago, but with a fading black eye and a desperate expression, looking around the station, seemingly just as anxious as Bucky himself. Bucky had to stop himself from sprinting over to him, but, when Steve finally looked his way and they made eye contact, that went out the window. Bucky broke into a half-jog, nearly a run, and Steve’s hands on his chest stopped him.

“I couldn’t find you,” Bucky breathed, and Steve’s hands slid up to frame Bucky’s face.

“My name is Steve Rogers, I live in DUMBO,” Steve answered, and Bucky laughed.

“My name is Bucky Barnes, and so do I, I can’t _believe-”_ Steve interrupted him by stretching up on his toes and kissing him firmly, cupping the back of Bucky’s head with one hand and pulling him down until they could still kiss with Steve flat on the ground. Bucky’s hand found his way to the small of Steve’s back, pulling him flush against him before holding onto his hip.

“I’ve been looking everywhere,” Steve murmured into his mouth, and Bucky grinned against his lips.

“So have I,” Bucky told him. The sound of an explosion burst above their heads, and Bucky dropped his forehead down to rest against Steve’s.

“Fireworks,” Steve explained. He tangled his fingers with Bucky’s. “Wanna go watch?”

Bucky smiled broadly before pressing closer, crushing another kiss to Steve’s lips.

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” Bucky told him honestly. Steve surged up again.

* * *

Steve dragged Bucky - James Buchanan Barnes, who goes by Bucky, who has a sister named Rebecca and a mother named Winifred and a dad he won’t talk about, who works three jobs, who has a prosthetic arm, who Steve has  _finally found_ \- to the beach, and Bucky seemed only too happy to be led. Steve dropped to the sand in what he and Sam had long since discovered to be the perfect spot to watch the fireworks, pulling Bucky down with him.

Bucky laid down on his back. He folded his prosthetic arm under him, and Steve laughed. Bucky shoved him into the sand before dragging him close with his flesh hand. Steve rested his head at the juncture of Bucky’s arm and his torso.

“You like the fireworks, then?” Bucky asked, his voice low, and Steve nodded against him just as the first firework exploded in the dark night sky. Steve grinned, and Bucky’s fingertips started threading through his hair. Steve turned his face up to him.

“I’m glad I found you,” Steve said, and the next firework made Bucky jump a little as the lights illuminated his face. His blue eyes lit up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think- Are the fireworks-”

“Distract me,” Bucky interrupted. Steve hesitated before swinging a leg over Bucky’s waist and settling on his hips. He leaned down, tangling his hands in Bucky’s hair and kissing him slowly, as best as he knew how to. Apparently, it worked, since Bucky’s hand found its way down to grip Steve’s waist tightly. When Steve pulled back for air, Bucky was lit up again, but his eyes were on Steve, white skin stark against the dark night and the exploding colors, instead of the fireworks.

“Was that good?” Steve asked, and Bucky’s hand trailed up to the back of his head, pulling him closer until their foreheads were pressed together.

“That was perfect,” Bucky assured him. “I’m glad I found you, too.”

Steve’s heart surged into his throat. He leaned down again, holding Bucky’s head tight between his hands, his thumbs dragging down until they stroked the hinges of his jaw in circles, his fingertips spreading behind his ears. He kissed him again, licking into Bucky’s mouth, slow and sweet, and Bucky kissed him back, two halves that finally came together to be whole.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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